It was as I was watching Iron and Wine in Edinburgh that something about my Spanish Civil war novel seemed to shift and make more sense. I wasn’t even thinking about it, just about why I always love the soft acoustic music of I&W and hate the retro-jazz funk rock outs. Anwyay, in my head the novel seems to have shifted a few inches, like the world on its axis after the Japanese earthquake, and become a slightly different creature. On Friday I didn’t have a great day writing and was feeling a bit low about it. A bit low about everything, actually – who could concentrate on anything after seeing those images of the Tsunami.
Disasters aside, I often find good ideas come after absolute despair. The highs and lows are part of the process. But the strangest part is how much work is unconscious. It makes me wonder what else goes on in our brains that we aren’t aware of. If we can go on working out stories long after our conscious mind has given up on them, what else do we do?